


Verbiage

by Smooty



Series: RussDoc NSFW One-Shots [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Choking, M/M, Murdoc is a nightmare, Obedience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: Murdoc always did stuff like this. He’d promise to do the dishes, then just throw them out and leave Russel to either buy new ones or dumpster dive for the old ones. Or he’d promise to be on time for practice and then completely vanish 10 minutes before they were due to start. Well not anymore, Russel was putting a stop to it now.





	Verbiage

Russel was fuming mad. He’d just spent the last four hours driving around Essex looking for 2D after Murdoc had “forgotten” to pick him up from a doctors appointment. By the time Russel had realized the singer still wasn’t home and gone to confront Murdoc, 2D must have gotten restless and began to wander. He’d found the singer in a McDonald's parking lot being attacked by hungry pigeons for fuck sake. 

When they got home 2D went to bed to recover from his ordeal and Russel made a beeline for Murdoc’s Winnebago. His footsteps boomed through the building, signalling his anger. Murdoc  _ always _ did stuff like this. He’d promise to do the dishes, then just throw them out and leave Russel to either buy new ones or dumpster dive for the old ones. Or he’d promise to be on time for practice and then completely vanish 10 minutes before they were due to start. Well not anymore, Russel was putting a stop to it  _ now. _

“Murdoc!” he shouted, pounding on the door of the trailer. “Murdoc open up right fuckin’ now or I swear to God--!”

There was a ruckus behind the door like someone tripping over something, and then Murdoc was swinging it open to face the drummer. The bassist looked like Hell itself, dark circles under his eyes, a sickly green tinge to his skin. Russel would have been concerned if that wasn’t par for the course with Murdoc. 

“What?” Murdoc snapped, arms crossed, hip cocked. He looked like a bratty child and it made Russel’s blood boil. 

“You!” You were supposed to pick up 2D!” Russel took a step forward, up onto the stairs of the Winnie forcing Murdoc to back up inside. “D’you you know where I found him?”

Murdoc rolled his eyes and turned around, grabbing one of the bottles on the kitchenette counter and struggling with the cap. “Do I care? He’s fine, Dullard won’t remember by tomorrow anyway.”

But Russel wasn’t backing down. He followed the bassist into the disgusting camper and slammed the door behind him. Inside was dirty and cramped, definitely not enough space for the two of them. “No thanks to you! God Murdoc, you can’t keep doing shit like this!”

“Watch me.” Murdoc finally got the cap off and took a swig, grinning in Russel’s direction.

Something about that grin and the way Murdoc looked at him over his shoulder screamed that the bassist was actually  _ enjoying _ their argument. Russel knew Murdoc thrived off of drama and conflict. Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want Muds. I’m done dealing with you.” He turned around and stomped out of the Winne, leaving Murdoc looking a self-satisfied and cocky. If Murdoc wanted to play games, then Russel would make his own rules.

* * *

 

“Where the bloody Hell are my shoes!” Murdoc had been rampaging through Kong for the better part of an hour. It was the first time Russel had seen him since their disagreement in the Winnie. The drummer was stretched out on one of the sofas, casually reading a magazine and ignoring the other man completely. He only looked up when Murdoc threw himself on the other side of the sofa, arms crossed and pouting. 

“You took my shoes,” he said, studying the drummer intently. Russel slowly closed his magazine and set it aside before looking at the bassist. 

“Why would I do that?” Russel wasn’t really one for practical jokes, and he didn’t usually go out of his way to bother his bandmates. Murdoc had no proof that it’d been him who hid his signature Cuban Heels.

“Oh ha ha. Very funny. Give me my shoes back, Russel,” Murdoc snarled. The drummer was unimpressed. 

“I didn’t take your shoes, Murdoc. They’re probably somewhere inside that trash-pile you call a bedroom,” Russel had to suppress a smile at the bassist’s outraged expression.

“You! You--you bloody bastard!” Murdoc jumped up from the sofa, pointing a finger and Russel. “I  _ know _ you took them!”

Russel rolled his eyes--again--and stood up as well. Without his heels Murdoc was significantly shorter than the drummer, forcing him to crane his neck to continue staring Russel down. It ruined the effect slightly. 

“Murdoc, I didn’t take your stupid high-heels. Go check your room again, you’re probably going senile and missed them.” Murdoc looked like he wanted to argue, but Russel didn't’ give him the chance. Instead, he picked up his discarded magazine and walked away, leaving the bassist sputtering in the living room. He'd return the shoes later tonight, after Murdoc had fallen asleep. 

* * *

 

“RUSSEL!”

The drummer stifled a laugh when he heard Murdoc shouting his name from down the hall. It’d been a few weeks since the incident with 2D, and only a few days since Murdoc’s last missed practice. So far, it didn’t seem like the bassist was learning his lesson. 

“RUSSEL HOBBS I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!”

He’d been slowly upping the ante, moving from minor inconveniences to medium-sized ones. Hiding Murdoc’s heels, swapping his sugar for salt in his morning coffee, and now…

“What’re you shoutin’ about Muds?” Oh no, he hadn’t meant for 2D to end up in the crossfire. Russel sighed and unlocked his bedroom door, walking out into the hall. Murdoc looked downright murderous and was advancing on 2D with a dangerously purposeful look. Russel cleared his throat making Murdoc’s head snap in his direction. 

“W-what’s goin’ on?” 2D warbled nervously.

“Nothin’ D, I’ll handle it. Why don’t you go order dinner or somethin’?” The singer looked relieved to have an excuse to get away from Murdoc, and quickly scampered away down the hall. Murdoc didn’t even look at him as he passed. 

“You’ve gone too far, Lard-Arse,” he growled lowly. ‘What the  _ Hell _ is your issue?”

“Come’on Muds, it’s just a little prank. Not like I, I don’t know, left you in a parking lot for 4 hours, or ruined your favourite shirt by setting the dryer to high heat or anything,” Russel answered, one eyebrow raised. Unlike 2D, Russel knew he could take Murdoc in a fight, and had no fear of the bassist’s retaliation.

“So what, this is you tryin’ to teach me some sort of lesson? Grow up, Russel.”

“You want  _ me _ to grow up? I’m not the one--”

Russel took a step forward. Murdoc was working himself up into a tizzy, and the drummer knew he needed to put an end to it. “Oh give it a rest. You walk around here like you own the place. Can you blame me for wanting to take you down a peg?”

Murdoc glared up at him, fists clenched at his side. “Yes! It’s my band, my studio!” 

“You don’t own us, Murdoc,” Russel said calmly, looking down his nose at the other. “You act like an ass, treat us all like shit, and expect us not to retaliate?”

Murdoc was livid, clenching and unclenching his fists, grinding his teeth. Russel had no doubt that if he was a smaller man the bassist would be on him in an instant. But because Russel had proven multiple times that he was more than capable of taking Murdoc on, he stayed still. 

“This isn’t the end,” he warned, jabbing a finger at the other. “Tell me what you did with my fuckin’ booze, Russel.”

“Fix your attitude problem, and I will, Murdoc.” Russel nodded decisively and turned his back on the bassist. Behind him, Murdoc did the same. 

“This isn’t over, arsehole.”

* * *

Russell was willing to admit that maybe he hadn’t gone about this the right way.

He’d made the mistake of thinking Murdoc would react like a normal person. A few pranks here and there to bring him into line, show him how ridiculous he was being, and they could get back to normal. But of course, Murdoc being Murdoc, he took it to the next level. 

Saran wrap on the toilet seat in Russel’s bathroom, mouthwash replacing his Gatorade, and  _ teeth marks  _ on  his drumsticks. The bassist was acting like a child.  _ And _ he was still missing practises and being generally unreasonable. It was really starting to get on Russel’s last nerve. He’d have to change tactics. 

He’d been watching Murdoc for the past week, taking note of his behaviour. It was almost like the bassist wanted people to get angry with him, wanted to be a hassle. Like he enjoyed the conflict. Even over something as simple as who got the last of the milk for the cereal--poor 2D had tried using water instead of milk for his after--he’d make a huge fuss. 

It gave Russel an idea. 

The next time Murdoc missed a practice--Russel knew it was on purpose because he’d made the plans himself--he made the trip out to the Winnebago. Just like last time, Murdoc opened the door ready for a fight, mouth open to say something nasty that Russel really didn’t want to deal with. So he took the initiative and stepped forward, silencing Murdoc with a kiss. 

Murdoc froze, hands coming up to rest on Russel’s chest to either push him away or pull him closer. Russel didn’t give him the chance to decide, pushing the bassist back and into the Winnie. The door slammed shut behind him but he didn’t care. Murdoc was being quiet for once, and the drummer internally cheered at the way the other man went pliant underneath him. 

“I knew it,” he murmured as their lips disconnected. Murdoc tired to follow and keep the kiss going, but Russel stopped him with a firm hand.

“Knew what?” Murdoc asked, eyes hazy with lust as he licked his lips. Russel felt a twinge of something hot in his belly at the sight of Murdoc’s hellish tongue. 

“You want someone to put you in your place. 2D’s too flighty, and Noodle’s just a kid. That leaves me.” He dragged one of his hands up from the bassist’s chest to his neck, exerting a firm pressure. “You’re like a child, actin’ out until someone pays attention.”

Murdoc’s breath caught as Russel pressed a little harder. “Fuck off.”

Russel smirked, using the hand still on Murdoc’s chest to push him back towards the Winnie’s bed.”Nah.”

And then they were kissing again, Russel tilting the bassist’s head up to get a better angle. Murdoc whined and grabbed onto the sheets behind him, hoisting himself up so he was sitting on the edge. Russel stood between his legs, hands now circling his waist. Murdoc was surprisingly thin under his palms and the drummer made a mental note to make sure he was eating right. 

“Take your shirt off,” he ordered, letting go of Murdoc’s waist and moving to bite at his neck. Rather than a snappy response, Murdoc did as he was told, tossing the shirt away. Russel immediately set about exploring the bassist’s body with his hands and tongue, reducing him to a shivering, moaning pile of pleasure. 

“Satan Russ, if I’d known you--” Before he could finish his sentence Russel pulled back, returning one of his hands to Murdoc’s neck. He applied more pressure than before, making the older man wheeze. 

“I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, Muds. This is a punishment, not a reward.” To his surprise Murdoc nodded docilely, eyes half shut in a dreamy expression. This was working better than Russel had dreamed. “Lay back.”

It didn’t take long to get Murdoc naked, especially since he was going commando. Russel tried not to let his arousal show as his eyes raked over Murdoc’s body. Despite being underweight and an alcoholic, the Satanist looked  _ good _ . His dick was hard and leaking on his belly, his legs spread wide. The perfect image of submission. 

Russel had intended to draw this out, make the bassist suffer, but that plan flew out the window as soon as their lips had touched. Instead, the drummer unclasped his belt and lowered his zipper, kicking off his pants to join Murdoc’s on the floor.

“Lube?” The bassist reached under a pillow without looking and tossed a half-full bottle of lube at the drummer. Russel chucked a little as he spread some on his fingers. “You ready?”

Murdoc nodded again and Russel wanted to laugh at how obedient he was being. Instead, he ran a  finger over the other’s hole, teasing just enough to get him to squirm. 

“Russel--!” Murdoc moaned, spreading his legs wider to entice. The drummer let the talking slide this time, mostly because he wanted to get things moving. He pushed one finger inside gingerly, cautious despite the fact he was supposed to be teaching Murdoc a lesson. When Murdoc whined and pressed back against the intrusion, Russel’s face split into a smile. 

Murdoc took one finger easily, then two, then three. The entire time he writhed and moaned incessantly. If Russel didn’t know better he would have said that this was some sort of fantasy come true for the bassist. 

“Russel, Russ, yes yes yes--!” The drummer must have found his prostate because suddenly Murdoc could keep quiet anymore. Russel angled his fingers a bit more and sped up the pace, driving sounds the likes of which he’d never heard from the smaller man’s body. Murdoc arched his back and gripped onto the sheets with a white-knuckle grip, his cock twitching with every thrust. 

“Damn, Muds,” he said, drawing his fingers out and tugging his own dick out of his pants. Murdoc watched him, jaw slack. Russel felt his ego rise at the look on the bassist’s face. 

“Murdoc, look at me,” he ordered. Murdoc had some trouble pulling his gaze away from Russel’s package but eventually managed.

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you now, understand?” Murdoc nodded eagerly, taking the initiative to flip over and prop his ass up in the air. Russel breathed out a quiet moan at the sight. 

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Then he was pressing into the tight heat of Murdoc’s ass, savouring the way the bassist shook beneath him as he bottomed out. Murdoc was quiet despite his shaky limbs. Russel couldn’t blame him, his own knees were feeling weak too. 

“Move,” Murdoc growled, snapping Russel out of his own head. The drummer looked at him for another minute, his flushed skin and messy hair. He’d never seen Murdoc look so undone. But he could think about that later, right now he began moving his hips, slow in and out thrusts that he knew wouldn’t be enough to sate the bassist's hunger. “For fuck sakes!”

“I told you,” Russel said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I don’t wanna hear nothin’ else from you. This isn’t a reward.”

But Murdoc was too far gone to care. “Then choke me again! Jus’ do  _ somethin’ _ Russ, please!”

If Russel was a stronger man he might have pulled out and left Murdoc aching and empty. But as it was he was nearly losing his mind with arousal, so instead, he wrapped a hand around Murdoc’s neck and squeezed as a warning. The bassist’s eyes rolled back in his head and his hips bucked, making Russel buck as well. He couldn’t put this off any longer. 

There was no buildup, no soft kisses and quiet moans. Russel set a brutal pace, rocking the bassist and the entire Winnebago with the force of his hips. Murdoc screamed in pleasure, long nails ripping the sheets to shreds as he tried to hang on to something,  _ anything _ . As a warning, Russel tightened his hold on the bassist’s neck for just a moment, cutting off his scream and turning it into a gurgling moan. It only seemed to drive Murdoc crazier. 

“Fuckin’ Hell,” Russel groaned, letting go of Murdoc’s throat to grasp his hips in both hands. If he had been feeling nice he might have jerked the older man off, made it a little easier on him. But Russel wasn’t feeling nice, and he redoubled his efforts to make the bassist come. That was if he didn’t come himself first. 

“Flip over,” he said, pulling out. Murdoc made a sound like a sob but obeyed, shoving one of the many pillows on his bed under his hips. Russel took a moment to enjoy the view, then pressed back inside him. It was just as good as the first time; he wasn't going to last. 

“Touch yourself.” Could he really make the bassist do anything he wanted, just by having sex with him?

“I c-can’t!” Murdoc’s head thrashed on the mattress. Russel grabbed on of Murdoc’s hands and placed it over his dick, not slowing his thrusts as he did so. 

“Do it,  _ now.”  _ And once again Murdoc complied, moaning and sobbing as he jerked himself off. A few seconds later he was coming into his own fist, the other pulling at his own hair in a masochistic bid to prolong the pleasure. Russel watched it all, then came as well, filling the bassist’s ass so full of come it spilled out onto the sheets. 

He was quick to pull out and find a shirt to wipe them off with. Murdoc was motionless on the bed save for the rise and fall of his chest. Had this been a huge mistake? Had Russel, in wanting to teach Murdoc a lesson, made everything much  _ much _ worse?

“Uh, you good man?” he asked, pulling up his pants and sitting on the edge of the bed. Murdoc passed a hand over his eyes and groaned. 

“Satan Russ,” he sat up and gestured for the drummer to pass him a pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. Russel did and took one for himself. “Didn’t know you smoked still.”

“I don’t. It’s a special occasion.” Now that he knew Murdoc wasn’t going to freak out on him, he could relax a little bit. 

“Hmph. Well you owe me one then.”

“After I just gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, fat arse,” Murdoc snarked back, but there wasn’t really any heat in it. Russel took that as a good sign. He finished his smoke then got up, walking to the door.

“We’ve got practise this afternoon, don’t be late.” Murdoc rolled his eyes and lay back amongst the sheets, a satisfied smile on his face. “I mean it.”

“Or what?” he challenged, waving his smoke in the air. “Gonna threaten me with a good time?”

“No,” Russel said calmly. “If you’re late you won’t be gettin’ a ‘good time’ from me again. Ever.” That got Murdoc’s attention. He sat up, eyes wide, mouth opening in closing sporadically. Russel knew he’d won. “See you at 4.”


End file.
